and  then
by Epitome of Randomness
Summary: "And then, she giggles. She laughs. Surrounded by blood and death and corpses and bodies of the innocents and not-innocents and smoke and people and mutants fighting for nothing and everything and now, she laughs." Omega-centric. Strong themes.


**Hi! I don't want to influence your views on this fic, so scroll down for the typical massive AN. **

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_**and then...**_

_What is more ins_a_ne th_a_n to vent on senseless things the _a_nger that is felt tow_a_rds men?_

-**Seneca**.

"One day, you will be incredible."

The fifteenth time she has told me this _(this month)_ and it is the fifteenth day of this month _(it is a Wednesday)._ A new adjective would be more pleasing. Overuse often destroys a words original intent _(intent; that is, what is yours?) _the silly Director does not know this.

"This is who you have succeeded. Know her face, for she is too, incredible."

This 'who I have succeeded' would be pleasing to the eye _(pretty)_ if she were clean and in appropriate clothing. As of now, she is slumped in a crate, grimy wings trailing from her back, dirt-blood-faeces smeared along her arm_ (why is it so?)_ and a clean streak on her face where a tear has trailed.

I stand, six years and two months and three days and look at the mix of bird and human and avian and girl and I feel superior _(disgusted)_.

**and then…**

Under her cool exterior, her smooth, ageless skin, the Director rages. Her hatred for Experiment M-r1d3 has doubled as the Traitor_ (Batchelder)_ has let them escape and escaped too. He has run.

Running is cowardly _(tactics)_ and for the weak _(tactics for the strong)_ and the Director seethes, plots.

I train, train, always train.

And I meet her. M-r1d3_b_, the second clone of the one I am superior to. I am superior to _b_ also as she is a slave _(free)_ to _(feel)_ her emotions.

Hate is what I am to feel against the first r1d3 yet I feel more to _b_ and it is a green hatred _(jealous? envy? desirous?). _A green hatred is what I feel, which I should not be feeling.

I do not need to feel.

**and then…**

The last of the mutants _(experiments)_ is what she calls me, and what she calls us. She calls me her piéce de résistance_ (coup de grace) _and calls me all things. Incredible _(insipid),_ astounding _(abominable)_, phenomenal _(pathetic)_, extraordinary_ (average)_.

What _(that)_ does _b_ call me? Yes. I train against her, always training-training-training. Languages, mathematics, martial arts. My abilities grow. From three languages to nine, physics become quantum. I spar with _b_ and break her. She does not cry, she crawls away.

I do not.

Know.

_(how to)_

**and then…**

_b_ is gone, her arms and legs healed. They trace r1d3 as she flits from state to state of the States, coming up on here _(hell)_ my only home_ (where the heart is?)_ Lendheim. We prepare. The Director is calm, yet under her skin, smooth and ageless and clear, I see and feel and hear her hatred boil.

Why hatred?

Why love?

Why does r1d3, or as she has named herself, Maximum _(she chose)_ insist on these answers?

Why does r1d3, or as she has named herself, Max _(she chose again)_ insist on those emotions – useless-pointless-abhorrent things.

She needs others. Pity is what I should_ (did)_ feel for her. She needs others and so she is pathetic.

**and then…**

_b _is not gone, she is _ba_ck here. She rages and screams and beats her fists on the wall _(and my chest)_ and screams and rages and bashes her head against the floor _(and at my feet)._

Failure is what she is _(tried)_. I watch her. I should feel pity, but contempt fills me like blood fills veins._ (please stop)_

Failure is _b_ and _b _is failure. It is all she is, and as the yard empties and more mutants become non-extant (_dead_) she quiets and prepares for termin_a_tion _(death)._

While others shut down, I realize. I awaken.

I am what the Director told me I would one day be and become.

I am Omega – I am the last of the mutants and I am incredible.

**and then…**

Maximum r1d3 is here, and she is ready. I know of her, she does not know of me.

I face her. the _a _of _b, _the original of _b_ and so, the same. Two sides of a coin.

I break her. She gets up.

I break her. She gets up.

She will not die.

She screams, she howls. She gets up.

She fights. _(like an animal) _

I do not like the _a_ of _b_.

**and then…**

Everything goes wrong. And the Director with her ageless skin is gone and there is no one to tell me who I am anymore. _(Omega)_ Who am I _(Ω)_ The Last. Amidst the screams and the guns and the smoke and the battle I should fight but who do I fight do I want to fight?

I see _a. _I see her fight for her family, and for her freedom.

I see _a. _I see her fight for her freedom, and for her family.

I see _a, _with her family. With her freedom.

I hate _a_.

I hate.

I…

**and then…**

Insipid, abominable, pathetic, average. Music, song, Four-four tempo. The pounding is all I hear, all I see, all I feel and I feel nothing but the four-four.

Ω

Insipid, abominable, pathetic, average.

Ω?

Insipid, abominable, pathetic, average.

"Omega."

Omega, the last.

Insipid, abominable, pathetic, average.

Pain in stomach. I did not see the projectile _(my foot) _but the four-four four-four four-four four-four is shattered. Pain. Real. Where am I? What am I? Who am I?

"Omega." _b. "_I'm going. I'm taking you with me."

I stand. I stare. Blood covers her face and hands, her arm hangs limp.

Insipid, abominable, pathetic, average.

I am Ω.

I am the last

and the pinnacle

and I am the greatest**.**

"Come with me if you want to live." says _b_.

And then, she giggles. She laughs. Surrounded by blood and death and corpses and bodies _(of innocents and not-innocents)_ and vomit and flesh torn from the bodies of the innocents and not-innocents and smoke and people and mutants fighting for nothing and everything and _now, b _laughs.

I follow.

**and then…**

_(blank)_. I open my eyes to retching, see _b _vomiting against a tree, clothes red with blood and black with dirt. The forest, surrounded by trees of green and age and peace.

_(blank)_. I open my eyes to breathing, see _b _lying against a tree, her eyes shut and mouth twisted in a frown.

_(blank)._

Kick.

I open my eyes and another boot connects with my side.

"Omega," _b_ says. "Bist du Tod?"

I can't talk. And so I shake my head.

"Können sie Sprechen?"

"…"

"…"

"…"

_(blank)_. I open my eyes to retching, see _b_ spitting bile against a tree, clothes black with dirt and red with blood. The forest is dark but I see all, clear and ancient.

"b" I say.

The girl wipes her mouth on her hand, smears blood from one part of her body to another.

"Ich heisse Max II." she says. "Aber Ich hasse meine Name."

"Wer sind Ich?"

Max II looks at me, limps over. "Ich kann Ihnen nicht erklären, dass mich zu verursachen nicht wissen Sie, wem ich bin."

"Omega," _b_ says. "Are you dead?"

I can't talk. And so I shake my head.

"Can you talk?"

"…"

"…"

"…"

_(blank.)_ I open my eyes to retching, see _b_ spitting bile against a tree, clothes black with dirt and red with blood. The forest is dark but I see all, clear and ancient.

"b" I say.

The girl wipes her mouth on her hand, smears blood from one part of her body to another.

"I'm Max II." she says. "But I hate my name."

"Who am I"

Max II looks at me, limps over. "I can't tell you cause I don't know who I am."

I am so tired.

I am so hungry.

I am so alone.

I am…

I…

I want…

I want to find out who I am.

I want to find out who she is.

And then…

_I can calculate the motion of heavenly bodies but not the madness of people. _

**-Isaac Newton.**

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**DISCLAIMER ONE: Not James Patterson.**

**DISCLAIMER TWO: Spelling, grammar and punctuation mistakes are deliberate. Literal translations were used, so don't bother translating the languages I used. It will come out as gibberish.**

**In my little world, Omega is three years younger than Max. I get the feeling the scientists were trying to one up each other and that's why Max is a hybrid and Omega is simply engineered – dueling schools of science. This also explains why Jeb would steal Max, if he knew the Director would kill Max once Omega proved his worth – he would do anything to protect his daughter.**

**This was an experiment in two things – can I come back to the fandom without spending half my fics bemoaning James Patterson and how would I write someone who is slowly slipping into becoming a soldier so trained, so conditioned that emotion doesn't come into the equation.**

**And then what happens when everything does go to hell in a hand basket. I love that term.**

**Omega and Max II are my two favourite Maximum Ride characters because they are the antagonists and don't get nearly enough screen time. Note to JP: Character Development – it's for everyone, not just Max and the Fanginator.**

**I've already looked at Max II, who is a lot more like Max I than we give her credit for. She has been conditioned but not nearly as much as Omega. Omega is like a computer program that gained sentience. At the beginning he's still a program but as he meets both Maxes his emotions begin to develop. Whether it's hormones or just because of the events is up to you. The brackets are someone else speaking as Omega recounts. If you paid attention you'd know who is talking.**

**Discontinuity rules. The series ended for me at the end of book three. Even if some plot threads weren't tied, the way the series has been going since has just…irritated…me….aaand there's me whining about James Patterson milking his cash cow.**

**Moo.**

**There there, Bessie. He'll stop eventually.**

**Yeah. So. Sorry if I'm not very understandable right now. Busy busy week. I hope you'll send some feedback.**

**Slayers? About that….see you!**

**-Nicola.**


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